


i'll be alright, if i could just see you

by bravest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 03:50:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest/pseuds/bravest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's kevin's turn to take care of sam, but sam's the one giving another pep talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll be alright, if i could just see you

It's Kevin's turn to take care of Sam. He doesn't like having to do so behind Dean's back, but Sam asked him as a favor and okay, come on, how does anyone deny this dude anything when he makes  _that_  face? It's like kicking an already crying puppy, seriously.

Most days Sam is fine, and some days Kevin has to help him stand as soon as Dean exits the room. He rushes to his side as Sam stumbles, reaches for the edge of the table,  _flumps_  down on a chair. He's already pulling out the tissues he's taken to carrying in his back pocket, shoving one at Sam's nose as blood begins to run from it. It's a good thing Kevin knows about nosebleeds, and he keeps the tissue pressed at Sam's nose.

"Don't move," he says, before grabbing Sam's limp hand from his lap and lifting it to replace his own, pressing it against the kleenex. "Hold that there," he says, and it feels a little weird to take care of a much bigger, and much older guy.

Well, okay, it's not as weird as how much he doesn't mind. Likes it, even. It gives him a reason to spend time alone with Sam, though he feels that might come to an end soon. They're running out of excuses to chase Dean away, and Sam is looking worse for wear. His brother isn't stupid, and he'll figure it out eventually.

For now, though, he takes advantage of it. Sam's grateful, thankful smiles are his reward, his hand at his back his comfort, his discreet nods of shared understanding his trophies stashed in the shelf of his mind labelled as "I Have a Gigantic Crush On Sam Winchester". Organized chronologically.

It's getting a little ridiculous and he might need a second shelf soon. But that's okay, because Sam is giving him one of those smiles right now, tired and worn but definitely thankful, and he thinks if he's ever truly sinned it's being washed away by the help he's providing the Winchesters. Or it would, if that smile didn't make him duck his head to hide his own, didn't make him cough and turn around to shuffle through his notes, didn't make his heart feel like it was about to burst out of his chest.

"Thanks, Kevin," he says, clearing his throat. The sound is harsh and wet and it makes Kevin wince, because they don't know what's wrong and it sounds like he's dying. This wasn't in the parts of the tablet he managed to read, and he'd already spent hours cursing himself for getting excited and sharing incomplete information. It would have been wiser to translate everything first, to make sure there were no tricks, no small print. They don't even know what the next task is, and as hard as he works he still needs a week or two. Maybe more, as he's begun to focus on Sam's symptoms on top of the second task, trying to find a link, trying to see some disclaimer about potential side effects. The bits and pieces are hard to fit together, though, and sometimes the headaches are so bad his vision blacks out.

It's at times like this that he's glad AP has taught him how to work under pressure, because wow, talk about  _pressure_. Pretty much the safety of the entire world is on his shoulders, and as much as he thinks he's too young for any of this crap, he wouldn't trust anyone else with the tablet. He had been chosen as a prophet, after all, and didn't that mean something? 

"No problem," he says, finding a very interesting piece of paper with illegible notes scribbled onto it. Yes, fascinating, anything to keep his eyes off of Sam, who looks too big in the chair, who looks too big  _anywhere,_ really, and okay that is a dangerous line of thought, so nope, out it goes. Out out out.

"So, anything new?" Sam asks him, and he means his nosebleeds and the blood he was coughing up, and the way there were lines under his eyes, bruised. When Sam came to him asking him about anything in the tablets about side effects, he'd told him he'd try and find out. It had taken a bit of questioning before Sam had admitted that something was wrong, and he'd made him swear not to tell Dean.

Kevin reaches across the table for the notebook he's been jotting notes into last, shaking his head slowly. 

"No, I'm...I'm trying, but..." But it's difficult, and he's being pushed hard by Dean about the second task, when all he wants is to take a break and figure out what's wrong with Sam so he can help him first. So he can save him.

"Don't overdo yourself," Sam says, and Kevin's head snaps to him and he melts a little because come on, really, you're sitting here bleeding out slowly and you're still concerned about me, of all things?

He almost wishes he had a crush on Dean instead, who could be kind of a jerk. But no, it had to be Sam, who cared, who worried, who helped and listened and fuck. Fuck.

"I'm...gonna make you something to eat. Uh," he stammers, before turning to the kitchen area. Okay, so that doesn't help at all because he's still like 4 feet away, but whatever, he just needs to make sure Sam doesn't notice the way he'd just looked at him. He's sure it was obvious.

"Wait, I'm, uh. I'm gonna need another kleenex," he hears Sam say, and he puts down the bag of pre-cut salad he was going to mix up. Something nice and green and healthy, maybe partly to impress him, but mostly to get something good in Sam. He pulls a tissue from his back pocket and turns to him, stopping short when he sees the one Sam's holding to his nose has gone entirely red. There isn't a white spot left on it.

"Shit," Kevin says, and Sam looks like he's sorry, like he feels bad for bleeding all over, as if it was something he could control. "Shit, okay," he says again, under his breath as his hand reaches for Sam's face, jerks back, is dropped to his side, comes back up. He's awkward and Sam is going to end up bleeding all over his shirt if he doesn't move fast, but he doesn't know where to put his hand or if he should remove the tissue himself or what and oh god, this is terrible.

"Hey, hey," Sam says, and his free hand is on his arm, stilling him. His voice is still kicked into that reassuring tone he gets and how the fuck can anyone be so ill and yet still be more concerned about some dumbass kid? The worst part is that he looks up at Kevin like he trusts him. He doesn't know what to do with that.

"On three, okay? We switch on three," he says, and Kevin nods. He's trying to help, he's keeping Kevin focused so he doesn't freak out and oh man, oh boy, he hopes he grows up to be half the man Sam Winchester is.

Sam counts, and on three removes his soaked tissue. Kevin shoves the next one at him and Sam's free hand leaves his arm to hold it in place. In turn Kevin takes the other one from his hands and flings it in the trash. There's blood on his fingers, Sam's blood, and he looks down at it and feels a little sick.

What if there's no cure? What if the small print says, oh yeah, by the way, whoever completes the trials dies? 

What would he do then?

Somehow he feels the world would be doomed if it lost the Winchesters.

He's been staring at his bloodied fingers for a few seconds too long when Sam calling his name jerks him back to reality.

"I'm okay," he says, and Kevin clenches his jaw and nods, but he doesn't believe a word of it. They're not that lucky. It's not just going to pass, it means something, and he'll figure out what.

"I'll figure it out, Sam," he says as he heads to wash his hands in the kitchen sink, turning his back to him so he doesn't see how shaken he is. He shouldn't even care, he shouldn't care about anything but getting this stupid shitty piece of rock read. "I promise I'll find you answers," he says, voice quiet as he watches the pink water dripping from his fingers, as he scrubs off the blood.  _I'll find you answers and I'll save you, too_ , his silence says. 

Because, when he thinks about it, when Sam told him to take a break sometimes, to take care of himself, he saved his life. He would have worked himself into the ground already had it not been for Sam's advice, for Sam looking out for him, checking up on  _him_ , not the tablet. Dean checked up on the word of God, Sam checked up on Kevin, unwilling prophet.

He couldn't believe that anyone would give a shit about him in the midst of saving the world, but it was one of the things he clung to when his eyes burned and his head ached and he felt like throwing up after hours of work.

He wipes his hands dry and turns back to Sam, who's watching him with concern on his face. The tissue is starting to really catch red, spreading under Sam's fingers like tendrils, and he grabs another and places it in Sam's free hand.

"You're going to have to tell Dean eventually," he says, and Sam's lips quirk into a brief smile as he scoffs. He's tried going down this conversation pathway before, and he knows it leads nowhere, but he feels bad hiding something like this from the other Winchester. He knows he'd be mad, he knows Dean would want to know what's going on with Sam.

"You know what I have to say about that," Sam says, and Kevin sighs. Yeah, he knows. Dean might lose focus, might do something a little crazy to take Sam's place, and none of them could afford that. The world was at stake.

"Yeah, I know. Still feels wrong," he shrugs, taking a seat on the nearest chair, forgetting about the salad he'd been about to make. He wasn't hungry anymore, anyways, and Sam had to keep his head tilted and probably couldn't eat until the nosebleed passed.

"It'll get better," he says, but then seems to think it might not, and corrects himself. "I'll deal with it," he says, shaking his head to get a strand of stray hair out of his face. Kevin watches him closely, noting that he looks tired, like he hasn't been sleeping.

"Are you even sleeping, dude?" He asks, raising his eyebrows. Sam purses his lips and shrugs, looking away.

"Whenever I can."

"Which is when? Never?"

Kevin eyes him like hey, man, you got on my case for not taking care of myself and you're not going to take your own advice? 

Sam avoids his gaze, doesn't answer, and Kevin laughs under his breath.

"Okay, you're a pretty cool guy and everything, but seriously? You do know staying up all night reading this stuff will make you end up like me, and Dean's going to call you out on it eventually and you guys are gonna fight," he says, running a hand through his hair.

Sam looks down and he frowns and he looks guilty, ashamed. He's probably beating himself up enough over this, Tran, shut the hell up and leave him be. He's an adult, he can make his own decisions.

"Sorry, it's just...we have no clue what's going on with you and the trials and I'm..." He lets out a sigh, shaking his head. "What if I don't figure it out fast enough?" He says, voice soft and a little scared because you know what? He is. Somedays he's terrified, somedays he wakes up with terror at the pit of his stomach because this is all on him. Dean and Sam are waiting on him and if he doesn't work fast enough it'll be too late, and he could bring the world to it's end and who thought it was a good idea to make him a prophet, again?

"I can't believe God would make it this hard to close the gates of Hell," he mumbles, and it's a thought he has often, wondering why God wouldn't just make it easy, why it isn't something he'd  _want_. 

"Kevin, listen..." Sam starts, and Kevin looks up at him like he's unraveling because he's so tired, and even eating better and sleeping more and washing up doesn't fix the torn and frayed threads of his mind.

"You're a genius, okay? You've made it this far on your own, and I guarantee you no one else would have," Sam says, and he soaks it up, drinks it up. "I mean, you were on the run from Crowley for about a year? By yourself? Even we had trouble getting away from him, dude," he says, and he sounds like he means it, and his brow is furrowing upwards and he looks like he cares, and even with the bloodied tissue at his nose it means something.

"I gotta say, honestly. I admire you," he says with a small smile, and Kevin's heart just stopped and dropped into his shoes and that's it, he's going to have a stroke right in front of Sam's eyes and it will be the most embarrassing moment of all time. Sam's smile widens at the look on Kevin's face, and it's a small grin now, small and secret, just for him. 

He can't breathe.

"You're a great kid, and I'm pretty proud of how far you've gotten," Sam adds, and please, please stop, Kevin thinks, before...he's not sure what, just that he would like for Sam to stop, right now, because the warmth in his chest is starting to burn.

His cheeks are pretty much on fire, too.

"Um. Thanks," he says, awkward, embarrassed, and he should say more, you have to say more when the guy you look up to compliments you like that but what can he even say?

"I believe in you, buddy. You just gotta...you just gotta keep going, okay? Don't let anything drag you down and you'll be fine."

Kevin knows he's right, and it's not the first speech he gets like this, but it's hard to remember when your mind is a jumble of symbols and fears and bits and pieces of Godly word.

He's quiet for a few moments, their eyes locked, and oh, that was a bad idea, there's something there he feels and it might only be him but it's there and it's strong and it's a bright light in the dimness of his life and he wants to hold onto it for dear life.

"Thank you," he says at last, and this time it's with meaning, it's heartfelt. Their eyes are still locked and Kevin opens his mouth to say something dumb, something he shouldn't say, but Sam jerks and turns to the door and he hears it too, the roar of the Impala coming this way. 

Kevin isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed.

Before Sam leaves with Dean, he leans over and speaks low near his ear.

"Call me anytime, alright?" 

Kevin nods a little too hard, telling himself he will, or maybe text him.

He spends three hours staring at his phone one night, dialling Sam's number, staring at half written texts, but he does neither. When his phone rings and he sees Sam's name on the screen his heart stops and he picks up with trembling fingers and an even shakier voice.

"Hey Kevin, Dean and I were gonna hit some diner we keep hearing about and there's this movie he wants to see. We thought you might like to join?"

(And there's a note of uncertainty in Sam's voice, like he wants him to say yes but isn't he will, that makes Kevin smile to himself.)

"What movie?" He asks, pretending that he hasn't already decided that yeah, he might like doing something normal. He hears Sam turn away from the phone, asking Dean, he hears Dean yell something at him through the phone and he barely even catches it, but it doesn't matter.

This would be good for Sam, too. It was his turn to take care of Sam Winchester, after all.

"Yeah, sure," he says.

"Okay. Okay, good," Sam answers, and Kevin swears he can hear the smile in his voice.


End file.
